*bows* I am so sorry that this chapter took forever and a day to get to you guys. With all the information and the flashback/dream work, it was really difficult to work out on paper. I had one of the biggest writing blocks because I was stressing and trying to force it, too. I couldn't write on anything.
Well, it is broken now. I have already started on the next chapter and some ideas for other stories, fan fiction and my own, are flowing freely as well.
I hope, I hope, that I will be able to maintain a more consistent update schedule for you from now on.
Please review and tell me if you like how I handled this flow of consciences.
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Chapter 4: Reflections
Guards were cursing them on the other side of the wall as the group of thieves fled. Shrill whistles followed them into the night air. Tripping, one member crashed to the ground. The footsteps thundered closer. Someone hoisted the fallen thief up. Leaning on each other, they stumbled around the shadowy bend behind him. The group continued to run. Youko paused at another turn in the temple. Running his hands over the walls, he smirked at the cries and foolish misgivings hissed behind him.
"I told you it was too risky, Youko."
"There were too many guards for our usual operation."
"If we die, I swear -"
Youko Kurama chuckled as he continued his perusal, his reply smooth, nonchalant, "Who said you were going to die?"
"We can't just hide in the corridors forever. Someone will look and find us. Some of us aren't - "
"No, some of you aren't fighters," Youko echoed, turning around, his golden eyes narrowed and sharp. "You wouldn't survive if we were caught." He held up a tiny silver seedling, shaping itself into a key. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed his organic key behind him. The wall shuddered and fell in, revealing a flight of stairs and light ahead. He turned around once more. "This will lead outside the fortress, and you wouldn't have found it without me." Silence. "Let's go."
. . . . . . . . .
Kurama turned in his sleep and another memory spilled forth.
. . . . . . . . .
Eyes on the shadow of the new moon, Youko Kurama listened as the argument below escalated. The gang of thieves had begun a discussion on a probable next target. One side wanted a more remote destination with little chance of strong opposition, but the other side desired challenge. Confident from the small smuggles, hot blood called out for a true test of their skills. Youko was silent, still, as reason dissolved into anger and animal instincts.
The shrill cry of metal echoed in his ears as the glint of knives and claws winked with the far away stars. Flesh tore. Curses flew through the night. Already heavy with blood, humming youki filled the saturated air. The fox allowed a silver of a smirk to form.
A wave of energy snuffed the tension out. Youko gazed down. His present second-in-command seized the nearest blade and kicked another brawler in the gut. He flung the blade aside, cuffing the remaining members of both parties. Last, he let out a scathing order. The group dispersed. Hand still bleeding, the demon spun around.
Their eyes met and held. As if alone, silent questions passed through their sharp gazes. Why had Youko Kurama, the leader, let the fight continue after first blood? Would he had waited for a death? Silence stretched on as the currents of vermillion clashed with solid gold. The gold did not waver.
. . . . . . . . .
Kurama awoke once more.
Eyes flickering open, he lay still as consciousness pushed further into the front of his mind. An airy whirr or noise filled his ears, and a pressure sat on his eyes. Sitting up, Kurama glanced at the alarm clock across the room on his desk. 4:19 pulsed at him, sliding from dark to transparent to painful neon red. Putting a hand between his eyes, the fox blinked away golden eyes and the residual hum of the latent youki. The pressure faded. Sighing, Kurama let his head fall back against the wall.
Every few weeks, Youko Kurama's memories and knowledge filled his time of actual rest, and each experience left his mind alert. Energy building around him as old instincts awakened. Patient and rested on even a couple hours of sleep, the fox would wait the adrenaline rush with a calm mind.
Kurama's eyes darkened, turning glassy, as he recalled the second memory, the harsh vermillion eyes. It had seemed like the demon had been accusing him, anger roused for an unjust action. It didn't fit.
"Hiei cannot prepare you for the ruthlessness of these fights. His honor makes him go easy on you. I will not."
As Kurama had told Kuwabara before the training for the Dark Tournament years ago, Kurama might have been a thief in his past life, but he was brutal. Simple thievery did not bring grisly legends to life, and even trapped in a human body, he would do anything to fulfill his goals. If death was the only way, he would kill, and he had. He was a demon from a cruel world in a human's skin.
This knowledge was nothing new to him.
Why then had this demon condemned Youko for not interfering?
Would Youko Kurama, decades before, have lowered himself to such a task?
Kurama found no answer and reluctantly returned to sleep. Again, memories and analysis clashed in his dreams.
. . . . . . . . .
